Castles In The Air
by Baron Munchausen
Summary: After Bertie leaves Downton, he travels to Tangiers and then returns to Brancaster Castle. He has lots of time to think about how things ended with Edith.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is my first story that isn't Andith. I wrote it to please some of the wonderful friends, writers and readers, that I have here, and at their request (you know who you are!). I hope this first chapter, or the ones to come, aren't a disappointment.**_

* * *

 **"To know your ruling passion, examine your castles in the air" — Richard Whately**

The castle felt cold, so very cold. He knew every inch of this place, the castle and the surrounding estate, the grand entrance hall, the large, ornate drawing room, the amazing library that he knew she would love...would've loved. It had all always given him pleasure. As Agent, he had been entrusted with the care of Brancaster, and he took that duty seriously, carrying it out to the best of his ability. By all accounts, and most emphatically in cousin Peter's opinion, Bertie Pelham was exceptionally good at his job.

Good at what had _been_ his job. Past tense.

Now he had to be good at Peter's job as well, or more likely, good at Peter's job _instead_. There was too much work for one man to be both Marquess and Agent, and do both jobs properly. And if nothing else, he was a meticulous man: he would always want things to be done properly.

Perhaps that was what had upset him about Edith and Marigold. At first he had leapt to conclusions, and thought it was Edith's choice. That she didn't care about doing the family thing properly. It was a natural enough thought but he didn't like himself for thinking it. Especially when Edith had told him the whole story, and it hadn't been like that at all. Yet he still felt uncomfortable. It wasn't the fact that Edith had an illegitimate daughter. Surely he was more liberal than that? Yes, of course he was. He had never judged Peter and his...unorthodox tastes.

He had thought it was because Edith hadn't trusted him with the truth from the beginning. He had thought that he was justified in breaking off the engagement because of this. But the more he thought about it...and he had had lots of time to think about it, and had thought of it constantly on his trip to Tangiers and back...in fact all the time he hadn't been thinking of cousin Peter...none of this added up. None of the reasons he'd given himself for his discomfort actually felt correct.

He walked around the castle. He still hadn't got used to the staff addressing him as 'my lord'. He doubted he ever would. Rooms and views which had always given him enormous pleasure and a warm pride, especially from the castle down the hill to the bridge, now felt distant and heartless. He was alone here. He had, within a matter of days, lost two of the three people who meant most to him in the world. His relationship with the third, his mother, was spiky at best. He could expect fifty years of this cold existence of duty and loneliness if he didn't meet someone else. And surely he wouldn't meet anyone like Edith, because Edith was...

Edith was warmth, and sweetness, and trusting. She took on challenges that she wasn't sure she should have, unsure they could be accomplished, but buckling down and getting it done all the same. She was unprejudiced, seeing a lowly agent for who he was and what he could do and valuing it. She was not proud.

She was love.

He thought back to when he first learned Marigold was Edith's daughter. Her sister, Mary, had started to say something about admiring him for taking Edith on 'with her past'. He'd been so focussed on what that meant at the time, but now he realised that it was such a strange, accusing thing to say. Not that he was good to take Edith on 'because of her daughter' or for 'becoming Marigold's father' which, if she really had thought Edith had told him would have been much more natural ways to put it. No, she said 'her past', a very loaded phrase. Tom had tried to stop her too, hadn't he? That surely meant that Tom knew Edith hadn't told him, and Tom knew that Mary was about to. Edith had said that she and Mary didn't really get on, but he never had any idea that their relationship was as bad as all that. What was the history to that, he wondered. Edith had hinted that she was still single in her late twenties because Mary, and indeed all her family, had ruined any romantic chances Edith had had?

Bertie stopped walking, icy fingers gripped his guts. Mary knew that mentioning it then would ruin Edith's reputation in his eyes, _and that was exactly what she meant to do_. And Edith...Edith had faced up to this...with bravery. She didn't challenge Mary then, neither did she deny the truth, she had told him plainly, without hesitation, as though...he sobbed...as though she had been preparing to tell him anyway and she knew the words she would use, perhaps she had even rehearsed it.

All those hints that she had scattered in his path. "I can't tell you straight away." "Can I bring Marigold too!" "I'm not as simple as I used to be." "I've been in love before, I won't deny it." Even when she took him to the nursery to see Marigold, she must have been watching him like a hawk. _Will he accept her? Will he judge me? Even if all goes well now, will he resent her in a few years' time?_

All he had done was confirm to her that he was a stuffy, judgemental, pretentious bigot! _Think of the situation from her point of view. She wants to tell me about her secret daughter, but she knows that if I disapprove it will end the relationship, and I will then be in possession of a very sensitive piece of information that could ruin her. So she tries to discover what my reaction will be before she dares to tell me, but I, like a fool, keep pushing her. I proposed on a day of tragedy, and forced her into an answer only days after I'd heard Peter had died. I was so desperate to have another anchor in my life, someone else I could love and who would love me back, that I didn't see her floundering. And when I thought that she had been hiding this from me, I throw a hissy fit because she hasn't lived up to my ideal of someone I can rely on. Bertie Pelham, you are an idiot! A certifiable, complete fool!_

Was there anything he could do? Any way that he could convince her to let him have a second chance? For the life of him he couldn't think of any opening, any approach he could make that wouldn't send Edith running away from him. How was he going to bear this?

…

The week after he received a telephone call from Lady Painswick, Edith's aunt.


	2. Chapter 2

There was nothing for him to do but wait. He looked around at the other diners but he recognised no one. For that he was grateful: if tonight ended badly he did not want anyone to witness it. He looked at the wine list but did not see what it said. He checked his tie for the fifth time. It was still perfect. The dining room at the Ritz seemed uncommonly warm to him, though no one else seemed to notice. He looked at his watch, and compared it to the ornate clock on the wall. They both indicated that it was five minutes past eight. Fashionably late, but late all the same. Had Lady Rosamund's plan failed? Had Edith discovered the ruse and refused to meet him. He wouldn't blame her. No after what he had done.

Had he got the date wrong? Or the place? Or the time? Lady Rosamund had been...well, strained on the telephone. She'd introduced herself, which caused him to go cold and silent with fear. She didn't wait for him to pull himself together but outlined the plan in straightforward and business-like terms.

"Lord Hexham, my niece, my _other_ niece, Lady Mary, has told me what happened at the end of your visit to Downton. The history of relations between the sisters is irrelevant at the moment, but Lady Mary regrets her actions, and has asked me to see what can be done to put things right. Make no mistake, what you have done has hurt Edith deeply, but it can be amended...if you want it to be."

"Yes!" He didn't care if he sounded desperate. He was desperate. "Yes, Lady Painswick. I want that more than anything in the world. But will she forgive me?"

"That's up to you and how convincing you can be. I can orchestrate a meeting...dinner at the Ritz, say...as long as you promise me that you will never do anything as stupid again as long as you both shall live. You know, of course, what Sir Anthony Strallan did?"

"Yes, yes I do, and on Edith's instructions and with her explanations, I have tried not to judge him too harshly. But I promise you, on my life, that I have learned my lesson. I would die before hurting Edith again."

"Mmm. That's what he said. And he probably meant it just as much...at the time."

She hadn't seemed convinced. Dear god, he hoped he could convince Edith herself. The rest of his life hung on the next hour or two. _Oh for heaven's sake, man, you're a marquess now! Act like one!_ He took another gulp of his brandy and soda aperitif. _I don't feel like a bally marquess, and I don't suppose I ever will. Not without her at my side. Oh Edith! Strong, wonderful, vulnerable, brave Edith…_

He looked up and she was there.

…

Edith had thought it was out of the ordinary for Aunt Rosamund to invite her to dinner at the Ritz. Out of the ordinary, but not out of character. She probably wanted to discuss something to do with Marigold, and Aunt Ros being Aunt Ros she couldn't just ring her or have her round for tea. She just couldn't help making dramatic gestures. Edith hoped that her aunt wasn't going to give her another talking to. They didn't help; they only served to make Edith feel even worse about herself, her life, and her choices. But at least her family were talking to her. It wasn't so very long ago that she feared that they would never talk to her again. Each of them had found out about Marigold in different ways, all of them more awkward and difficult than she would have wished. But there was no way on God's earth that she would give Marigold up now. She finally truly understood all those stories about the maternal instinct and how ferocious it made women, and how much they would sacrifice for their babies. She herself had given Bertie up, hadn't she? To be exact, of course, he had given her up, but she had not made the situation any smoother by not telling him when he first proposed. It wasn't that she didn't trust Bertie. She had feared his reaction, that was the honest truth of the matter. He had become the person she most wanted to think well of her in the world. She had given up on her family, and there was no one else she really cared about...not any more.

When Bertie had said goodbye that bright, sunny afternoon, and walked away from her across Downton's broad lawns, she had really thought that she wouldn't see him again. But somewhere under the heartbreak and grief she knew that it would not devastate her, because she was older, and stronger, and because she had to think of Marigold. She remembered watching Anthony walk away from her on that same lawn, about ten years ago. That was because of Mary's spiteful machinations too. She had grieved for Anthony's loss for months, especially after she'd been told he had volunteered and been sent to France. She prayed that he was safe every night. Perhaps her prayers had been answered because Anthony did at least return home alive; and Bertie had stayed on in the army as a professional soldier after the War, unwounded. After Anthony had jilted her, she had pretty well fallen apart. And when Michael had disappeared in Germany she was desperate, but that was because she was expecting Marigold and without him her options were limited; even more so after Aunt Rosamund and Granny had found out.

Neither Anthony's leaving her (either time), nor Michael's had been her fault, not really. Perhaps that was why they hurt so much. She felt that perhaps she could have done something to stop them. But Bertie, despite Mary's nastiness, had left essentially because she had not told him about her daughter. Edith knew that Bertie could very well be her last suitor. And yet deep down she knew she would cope. She would have a good cry, she would dry her tears, she would continue to care for her child, and Life would go on. In many ways, the realisation that she had that strength now was more comforting than losing Bertie was upsetting.

She'd left The Sketch offices that evening on time, unusually. After going back to her flat and changing into something suitable for dinner at the Ritz she had caught a taxi and picked up Aunt Rosamund. She had been very engaging and funny, telling Edith about a dinner party she'd attended at the French Ambassador's the previous week. Edith let her talk, knowing that trying to ask what this dinner was all about would be perfectly useless until Rosamund wanted to tell her. Also, she was hoping that she might glean some gossip that could be put into the paper. They were shown through to the dining room. Aunt Rosamund stopped talking and looked intently across their table. Edith followed her gaze, and he was there.

He was getting to his feet, slowly, politely. Bertie was always polite. All the blood drained from her head.

"What on earth?" She looked back and forth between her aunt and her ex-fiancé. The dreadful truth dawned that this was not a coincidence.

"How did you know I would be here?" she demanded of Bertie, suddenly annoyed, though she kept the anger under control. There was a movement at her side.

"Are you leaving?" There was the faintest touch of panic to her voice as she stopped Rosamund.

"I certainly am. Goodnight, darling. I'll telephone in the morning."

With that, she left. Her own flesh and blood had well and truly dumped her in it. There was nothing for it but to sit down and see what happened. But she was darned if she was going to let Bertie keep the initiative.

"Is this all a setup?" Bertie looked like a rabbit staring down the barrel of the farmer's shotgun. As he didn't seem to be in a state to answer her question, she theorised aloud. Her voice sounded accusing, but she didn't care.

"Someone tipped you off I was in London. Was it Papa?" That would be so like him. He would love to have a marquess for a son-in-law. Oh yes, he chased away the mere baronet even though she had loved him, but the Earl of Grantham was eager to forgive the peer who ranked higher than him, never mind that he too had walked away from her.

"It was Mary" said Bertie.

Edith was sure that nothing about this evening made any sense, but that statement shocked her most of all. She had fallen down the rabbit hole, surely. She stared at Bertie incredulous, and spluttered "Mary?! How? What did she do?"

"Booked the table and got your aunt to play along. They thought you might not come if it was me."

"They were right there" she retorted, not bothering to hide how much she'd been hurt.

"Will you stay now? Please?" Bertie looked so sad then, she almost forgot to be angry with him. Before she could respond the waiter took advantage of the break in conversation.

"May I bring you a menu, m'lord, and perhaps a drink?"

"Thank you, yes, we'll have menus and two glasses of Champagne." Suddenly, Bertie was the quietly commanding officer and gentleman again. It seemed like he could deal with everything and everyone except her...and his mother of course. As soon as the waiter had retreated, she tackled the main question.

"Bertie, I don't know what I'm doing here. You broke my heart!" At that Bertie looked as though she had punched him, hard. Trying to soothe him, she went on.

"I'm not blaming you...exactly. I know why you felt you had to."

"I want you back" Bertie blurted as though he'd been struggling against something...something like fear...something which had abruptly given way.

But it wasn't his courage that was in question.

"Nothing's changed."

"I've changed." Edith rolled her eyes at all this dramatic, male gumph. Why were men so...so illogical?!

"Well, if you have, you haven't said a word to me about it." _There are two people in a marriage you know Bertie!_ "I don't believe you'd have spoken now if Mary and Rosamund hadn't intervened."

"I would have, I promise."

"But what's different? I still have Marigold. You have your mother." There was just no way out that she could see.

"I never told her we'd split up."

"Well, we have." _Coward! Can't own up to Mummy that you dumped me._

"Would you believe me if I said I couldn't live without you?" _Probably not._

"You've done a pretty good job of living without me lately."

"I've done a very bad job." His voice broke as he said it. It made her think that perhaps she was automatically dropping into Edith-arguing-with-Mary mode. Perhaps she needed to be a bit more understanding, a little less cynical.

The waiter returned.

"M'lady. And for you m'lord."

She took a deep breath and tried to bring the conversation back to the purpose of bringing her here.

"I don't understand what you want of me. What are you asking?"

"I want you to marry me."

Well, she hadn't expected that. Bertie seemed to be getting more and more recklessly brave as the evening wore on.

"Just like that?"

"Whenever you choose but...that's what I want."

There were still things that needed to be settled if that was even going to be a possibility.

"If I agreed, and that's a big if, would we tell your mother the truth about Marigold?"

She thought he looked as if he had thought about this question long and hard, but had only come to a decision when she had asked him. Nevertheless he said it with certainty.

"Let me put it this way, if we tell her, we'll have to break with her. I'd prefer not to do that."

Edith could understand that. Wasn't it what she herself had been through in the last few years?

"Even without your mother, there are people out there who know the truth. There could be gossip. Are you ready for it?" There was no point in going further if he didn't know what the worst might be and was prepared to face it with her.

"Well, I hope to avoid it. But I'm ready if we can't. The only thing I'm not ready for is a life without you."

Men had said such things to her before. And she had believed them. But as she looked at Bertie, she just knew that he meant it, and a lot more besides, with his whole being. He sat before her looking like a puppy, fearful and hopeful at the same time. It almost made her laugh to think that, for the first time in her life, she had the upper hand over a man, and would do for the rest of her life should she decide to choose it.

She did choose it.

After she had rung home, Bertie took her into the darkest corner of the lobby cloakracks, gently but firmly put his hands on her shoulders, then wrapped her in his arms and kissed her like she had never been kissed before. And then she knew that she had made the right decision.


End file.
